Free Murder in the Rue Dumas: A Verlaque and Bonnet Provencal Mystery (Verlaque and Bonnet Provencal Mysteries) by M.L. Longworth Page B

chair but not returning Mme Bonnet’s forced smile. “This is my commissioner, Bruno Paulik.”
    Florence Bonnet took her seat and looked at Paulik, adjusting her glasses as if to see him better. She smiled—obviously liking what she saw—and then said, “We’re a motley crew in the Theology Department, aren’t we?” Verlaque hid his smile and liked Mme Bonnet a little more.
    “We did get the impression that not many of the theologians actually get along,” he answered. “At least those who spoke up during the meeting.”
    Mme Bonnet made no acknowledgment of the judge’s hint and continued. “That was Georges Moutte’s fault.” Both men leaned forward, interested. “Moutte played cat and mouse with his professors. He left me alone—I think that he was a little afraid of me.” She smiled openly at the thought of it. “Both Drs. Leonettiand Rodier are under a fair amount of stress right now,” she added, wanting to give the policemen a better impression of her department. “Georges was going to retire at the end of the school year, and Annie and Bernard were up for the post. But Georges would play the other professors off of each other, promising one a full professorship and then giving it to someone else. He even did the same thing with the graduate students, dangling the Dumas prize in front of their noses, hinting at who would win, that sort of thing.”
    “Was the Dumas that big of a deal?” Paulik asked. What he really wanted to add was
that someone would kill for it?
Mme Bonnet looked at Paulik and then at Verlaque, her eyebrows raised.
    “Have you heard of the Prix de Rome?”
    Verlaque nodded but it was Paulik who replied, “The prize given to artists and architects to study in Rome?”
    “Yes. Well, the Dumas was almost that prestigious. A cash prize of fifty thousand euros to enable a scholar to study; a furnished apartment here in Aix, just downstairs from the doyen’s apartment; travel expenses paid in case your research takes you to Jerusalem or to Dublin; and something on your résumé that’s invaluable.”
    “And will no doubt lead to future employment,” Verlaque added.
    “Almost certainly.”
    “And the fellowship has been in existence since when?” Verlaque asked.
    “Since 1928, when Father Jules Dumas left the family fortune to us.”
    “Could you explain to me how a French university was allowed to keep a Theology Department going after 1905?” Verlaque asked.
    Mme Bonnet peered at the judge and thought twice before answering, not because she didn’t know the answer but because he hadn’t said
please
.
    “In 1905, as you know, a separation of church and state was declared. The university Theology Departments across France were closed, save in Alsace because it was German at that time, and this small department in Aix, thanks to one savvy Dr. Roland Dumas, uncle of Jules. Those wishing to study theology had to do so in a History, or even Law, Department. Fortunately the Dumas family was wealthy beyond belief, and even in 1905 money spoke loudly. The fact that one uncle was a cardinal and another a politician helped. The department was granted autonomy if they could prove to the state that they would be totally self-funded. The family had made enough money and wise investments that this was easy to affirm, and the scholarship has been granted yearly without a break since 1928, except during the occupation of the south of France from 1942 to ’45.”
    Verlaque asked, “And how long will it keep going on?”
    Florence Bonnet shifted in her seat. “Ah, with God’s will…many years to come…”
    Verlaque cut in. “So there remains quite a bit of money.”
    “Enough,” Mme Bonnet answered, clearing her throat.
    “You’re the treasurer of the Dumas Committee,” Paulik said, looking at his notes.
    “Yes. We’re having a meeting at the end of the week, as a matter of fact.”
    Verlaque knew that Florence Bonnet was hiding something, but he wanted to get her to